Tiff
by he is the lamb
Summary: “It’s much better than ‘tiff’ like you Brit’s say.”


**Author's Note:**_ I wanted to apologize for taking so long with updating my other stories Melt and Work Days (for those who have read them). I'm in a bit of a writing rut, and being sick isn't helping. I wrote this piece over Easter weekend and have debated on whether or not to post, but thought it'd be a nice piece offering considering my recent Writer's Block. Enjoy~_

**Warnings:**_ You should know by now I don't spoil ;) I'ts like being told how a movie or book ends before ever reading/watching it._

**Disclaimer:** _As if, pssh...I maybe awesome, but I'm not that good. lol. I own nothing but the plot._

* * *

_"It didn't change anything…"_

The young Australian's words were left to ring in his ears. So what if House had been wrong? It didn't give him the right to hit one of his co-workers. It didn't matter if Tritter was making sure that the diagnostician's life was hell, having your vicodin monitored doesn't give anyone the right to lash out. No matter how much pain you were in. House should not, would not be an exception.

Wilson knew he should probably go to Tritter, things had officially gone too far. What after Cuddy being knocked down a peg verbally, and then Chase literally. No, if his best friend, if you could call him that, was going to take his frustration out on someone. It was going to be him; he knew how to deal with the difficult man unlike everyone else at the hospital. Even Stacy was lost on what to do when something like this occurred; it's one of the reasons why she left. She couldn't stand knowing that Wilson would always be more important than she would.

House was still in his office, bouncing that stupid red tennis ball of his against the wall when he approached. Even with the amount of pain he must have been in, old habits do die-hard after all. He could see the sweat shimmering on the doctor's brow without even entering the room. The single lamp was enough to illuminate the agony on his friend's face, no matter how well a job he was doing at hiding it. 'Bang', 'bang', 'bang'…

"House."

Wilson cautiously opened the door, letting his upper half peek in waiting for an invitation to join. It never came. The red ball continued to be thrown. Wall, floor, hand, repeat.

"House." He tried again, this time a bit louder.

The ball once more hit the wall and then the floor, but when the diagnostician caught it again, he didn't let it go. Instead staring down at the sphere intently as he turned it over in his hand, analyzing.

"I screwed up." He murmured, earning a sigh from his long time friend.

Wilson entered the room now, making sure the door closed securely behind him before he took the seat in front of the glass desk. He rubbed a hand over his face, stopping to cup his chin for a moment, before letting his hand drop into his lap.

"The girl is still alive, light allergy is an uncommon-"

"I screwed up." House repeated as if the other man didn't speak.

"Necrotizing Fasciitis was a perfectly sound diagnosis, you had no way of-"

"Dammit Wilson!"

The red ball once again went flying, but instead of bouncing back to its usual path, it crashed into the bookshelf. Succeeding in knocking down several heavy medical journals and cracking one of the shelves. The oncologist jumped, turning his attention back to House who was resting his forehead on his cane, eyes shut tightly.

"Ok, I'll bite, how'd you screw up then?"

The diagnostician didn't say anything for a while. Instead he sat up slightly, examining his knuckles on his right hand, the skin red and tender looking.

"I hit him…"

"You mean Chase?"

The image of the vivid bruise he saw earlier came rushing back to him. _"It didn't change anything."_ The accented words echoed, unheard between the two men. Wilson's reason for the visit returning to him, when had he forgotten?

"Of course I mean Chase! How many blonde Australian's do you know?" The sarcasm didn't have as much sting as it usually did.

"Why are you worried about him House? Since when did you start caring about those around you?"

His friend was silent again, and the re-occurring of this was making Wilson grow increasingly frustrated. Sure, the man had punched a colleague over a wrong diagnosis. So what? He'd done worse in his career than that, but the memory of what had happened a few hours earlier was obviously bothering him. Ok, so the Australian was House's favorite, according to him at least, but even if Foreman was, the diagnostician surely wouldn't be this torn up about it, unless…

"You're sleeping with him!" It wasn't a question, more of an accusation.

Wilson's suspicions were confirmed when his friend didn't move, didn't blink, did nothing to deny his words.

"Jesus, House…" he wiped his face again.

"Actually, it's God, remember?"

"He works for you! What were you thinking, if you did at all?"

"It's better than fucking my dying patients!"

Ok, that stung…a lot, but at least he had some sense! The age difference was enough to re-think such a relationship; you didn't see him sleeping with the young girls coming to him, just out of high school. That wasn't fair though, pain had made House look physically older than he actually was, it could do that to anyone. And it wasn't like Chase walked out of college yesterday, more like a couple years ago, but still.

"I hit him Wilson…"

Oh, yeah, there was still a conversation going on. He almost forgot with the way his thoughts kept getting away from him. Wait, was House's voice…shaky? No, just not paying attention, that's all.

"He'll be fine, it'll be gone in a couple days-"

"That doesn't matter! I hit him! Are you deaf or something?"

The diagnostician pushed himself to his feet, turning on his friend, obvious distress in his icy blue eyes. The pain on his face wasn't from his leg it was emotional. Was he really that torn up about this? So what if they were sleeping together, no big deal right? House had hookers on speed dial for Pete's sake, if he wanted to get laid so badly all he would have to do was press '2'. He didn't have to seduce one of his 'ducklings' a male at that.

"You…like him?" disbelief and realization colored the words.

"Obviously I should have rethought talking to you. What was I thinking? Of course the man who was divorced three times would know what to do."

The sarcasm was tangible when House spoke this time. Grabbing his leather jacket from the coat hanger along with his helmet, pocketing his keys on the way out of the room. Leaving Wilson to ponder what had just happened. He had a feeling he had just failed his unofficial job as the 'understanding best friend'.

* * *

It wasn't really that bad, there was always the possibility of a hairline fracture, but he doubted it. Chase sighed, opening the medicine cabinet to grab some Tylenol. Swallowing the pills dry, a habit he had picked up from watching his boss. Shutting off the light, he walked back to the couch, flipping off the television as he settled in for the night. The pain in his jaw was bearable now; the only thing that really hurt was recalling how he got it. The blonde exhaled heavily, lightly punching the pillow as tears threatened to prick at his eyes. He'd keep telling himself that, it really wasn't that bad.

* * *

It was past midnight when House finally returned to his apartment, he wasn't sure how long he had stayed in his office, wallowing in his guilt. Obviously too long if it was this late. Dropping his things in the entryway, he limped further into the front room, careful not to trip in the dark. Thankfully there was enough light from the window to guide him safely.

The silence was deafening, no stupid small talk from the news anchors, no music, no clanking in the kitchen…dead silence. You never really realize how accustomed you get to all the noise until it was gone. With his behavior this afternoon, how could he expect Chase to welcome him home? Their home…he had talked the blonde into moving his stuff in three months ago. When your spending more of your nights at someone else's house than your own, it just makes sense. It also saves on gas.

For living in the States for only a few years, the Australian had a lot of stuff at his old apartment. House remembered teasing him when the last of the boxes made their way into his living room. A few were still packed up, sitting in the back of the coat closet, old knick-knacks and photos that he had brought with him from Australia. There was plenty of room for them, but Chase had said _"Those are my old memories Greg, It's time to make some new one's…"_ The diagnostician didn't know what he was talking about then, but he did now. The wall across from his piano had been transformed into a collage. The blonde was always taking pictures, House was sure that half of Chase's paycheck went towards batteries and printer ink.

He stopped in front of the wall, letting his fingers graze the shiny pieces of paper, haphazardly stuck up with scotch tape and thumbtacks. There was the one with them on House's bike, the blonde's arms wrapped tightly around his middle. House at his piano, and one of the rare moments when he had stolen the camera, a picture of Chase grinning widely as he tried to snatch the device back. And one of his favorites, the two of them laying in bed together, too late for work to care, sharing a kiss. He couldn't remember when the ugly beige of his wall had disappeared. He couldn't remember when he stopped minding all the changes he'd been put through, these past three months especially.

They had been dating for nearly a year now, their first anniversary was coming up in March. And being the bastard he was, they'd never make it to that day. House had made reservations for their favorite restaurant last month, a bit early, but you could never be too careful. It wouldn't matter now though. Why did he have to hit him? Chase…he was doing his job, making sure they wouldn't cripple a little girl for no reason. 'I'm in pain' hadn't ever been a good excuse for his actions, and that had never been made so crystal clear before today.

Sighing, he limped over to the kitchen, grabbing the whiskey he kept hidden in the top cupboard. He twisted off the cap, tilting his head back, intent on getting trashed and maybe sleeping away his miseries for the rest of the weekend. It was nearly to his lips when he remembered how Chase's mother died, he lowered the bottle, emptying it down the sink rather than his throat. Nothing seemed to be going right today, he couldn't even get drunk without feeling guilty. So if he couldn't forget, he'd at least punish himself with a bad back. There was no way he was about to sleep in their bed alone, it wasn't like Chase was working late in the NICU…he wasn't coming home at all.

The diagnostician moved back to the front room, about to sit on the couch when he saw a familiar head of blonde hair. Moonlight filtering in through the window cast an almost eerie glow on the sleeping man. Making his skin almost luminescent if it weren't for the dark bruise marring his features. A pang of guilt shot through House at the sight of it and he couldn't help but reach down and gently run the back of his fingers over it, lightly caressing the other's cheek.

* * *

Who was touching him? Chase's eyelids fluttered some, trying to pull away from both his dreams and the conscious world that was intent on waking him. The tug-of-war was pointless though and he had no choice but to slowly blink the sleep from his eyes. It wasn't soon after that the soft touch that woke him vanished, leaving the blonde confused on whether or not he had imagined it.

"Chase?"

House's voice was soft, but still seemed too loud in the room. It startled the blonde as he whipped his head back to see his boyfriend standing over him. For the first time in his life, the man looked…scared? It was hard to tell as the blood rush from his sudden movement made him dizzy.

"House? What's, what's wrong?" His voice came out gargled with sleep as he moved to sit up, to make room on the couch.

The diagnostician didn't say anything, merely watched him with concerned blue eyes. Which may be odd for anyone else, but in the relationship they shared, it only succeeded in making the Australian worried. He reached forward, taking the hand not holding the cane, squeezing it gently though the action wasn't returned. Did something happen, at the hospital?

"What's wrong?" he repeated, tugging him down, so they could sit next to each other.

House was silent for a long moment, eyes shuttered off as he now watched their entwined fingers instead. Minutes passed before he looked back up again, using his other hand to lightly touch Chase's jaw where the bruise was.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, still not meeting the blonde's eyes.

He couldn't help but flinch slightly at the touch, more as a response to pain than fear. His reaction was obviously mistaken though as House started to retract immediately. The Australian's sleep fogged brain was still clearing, but he was quick enough to put two and two together. Grasping the slightly larger hand in his own, he kissed the older man's palm before placing it over the bruise.

"You weren't yourself." He murmured, his green eyes locking with the blue ones just in front of him.

He hoped that the other would understand that he wasn't angry. Sure, he was upset when it had first happened, thinking that their relationship didn't change anything. That House would still treat him like shit no matter what was going on in their personal lives, it was stupid of him. It wasn't like they could just broadcast their relationship to the world, but that wasn't the point. The man cared for him, they cared for each other, no matter how ridiculous people may think that was.

What happened that afternoon were both their faults. House wasn't thinking clearly thanks to Tritter and the rationing of his medication, which led to the mis-diagnosis. And when he had found out, well, he shouldn't have gone running up to the diagnostician pushing him, literally, to hear him out. Sure the little girl's limbs were literally on the line, but things could have been dealt with differently.

"Are you stupid or something? I hit you!" the angered whisper cut through his musings, effectively ending them.

"I'm not some weak little girl Greg, no matter how 'pretty' you say I am. I'm tougher than I look." He couldn't help but smile some.

"I still shouldn't have hit you."

"No, you shouldn't have, but we can't change that. I'm not about to leave you over some silly tiff in the hallway."

"That was more than a 'tiff' as you say." A small smile was growing on House's lips as well.

"Whatever you American's call it."

"It's much better than 'tiff' like you Brit's say."

"Australian House, I'm Australia-"

His words were cut off by a soft kiss, "I know Wombat, I know…"

Fin~

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_This is my first ever oneshot, I'd love feedback on it._

_So please, don't fight the urge...just click that lovely box beneath this..._

_xxx_


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